


This Breath We Share

by katajainen



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: 5+1 Things, Awkward Flirting, Cultural Differences, Cultural Misunderstandings, Hair Braiding, Kissing, M/M, Tastefully suggestive bits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-09-18 15:57:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9392438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katajainen/pseuds/katajainen
Summary: Five times Legolas kissed Gimli – and the one time Gimli kissed him back.But is any kiss ever 'just a kiss'?





	1. A Token of Friendship (Ill-taken)

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [2000GigolasFics](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/2000GigolasFics) collection. 



> **Original prompt:**
>
>> Five times Legolas kissed Gimli and one time Gimli kissed him back.
>> 
>> I envision this as the elf aggravating the dwarf at first-- then Gimli starts feeling the love as both the kisses and the annoyance grow into something sweeter. Bonus points for loud, peevish dwarven fuming, and as his emotions grow warmer, the fuming gets louder. But you can adapt it as much as you want.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It starts in the border-lands of Lothlórien.

The twilight was thickening under the boughs and leaves, but Gimli could make out the lighter shape of the tree where the silvery trunk disappeared through the platform above him. Fair enough, he thought to himself, if the hobbits and Men could manage their way up onto the elven woodwork, he would not be proven any worse. He had one foot up the rope ladder and was testing the hold and sway of it under his weight when he heard the Elves. Or, _their_ Elf and the others.

They were conversing rapidly in their own language – and as far as Gimli could tell, having an argument. For all they sought to keep their voices down, the tone was heated enough, and each of Legolas’ replies seemed more curt than the last, his silences sharp with bitten-off edges.

Gimli let the ladder hang loose and risked a few steps around the tree, not far enough, he hoped, to be spotted. _‘Breathe so loud they could shoot you in the dark,’_ he scoffed silently. _Can’t do that when you’re twittering like a flock of starlings, can you?_

Legolas was some steps ahead of the others when Gimli saw him, and seemed startled to find him there. Gimli could not make out his expression, but could read his posture well enough as the Elf called out his name. So he thought at least, until Legolas suddenly leaned towards him.

His hands on Gimli’s shoulders were quick and light and gone like sparrows alighting, the brush of his lips on his but a touch of warm breath, fled before Gimli could do aught but gape at him. What words he had ready to protest he kept tight to himself when Legolas spoke.

‘I vouch for him,’ he said, turning quickly to stand at Gimli’s side. ‘As a traveling companion, and as a friend.’

One of the others stood forward and cocked his head. ‘I see that you would,’ he said slowly, and it was Haldir, then, because he alone of them spoke Westron. ‘A fine choice of a friend you keep.’

Gimli bristled at the tone, but kept his tongue. If the Elf sought to taunt him, he could keep trying.

‘Fine, aye,’ said Legolas, ‘for he’s one of the few who have come through fire and darkness alongside me, seen undaunted such horrors I thought long gone from these lands – no, I could hardly not call him a friend when I would trust him with my life.’

To that, Haldir said nothing, but inclined his head and melted back into the trees with his companions.

‘You–’ Gimli hissed as soon as the others were out of sight if not out of hearing– ‘you– Elf; what time do you think this is for playing jests?’

Legolas turned to him, his face a pale shadow of silver in the quick-fading light, and spoke near in whisper. ‘Haldir, the march-warden… he stands a border-land guard for his realm and is still wary of you; and that was the boldest token of friendship I could think of.’

‘Try pulling the other one – it’s got bells on,’ Gimli huffed. ‘I have no mind for games.’

‘But truly; that is how I would greet a friend, were I among my own kin.’ The Elf paused and shifted on his feet, the movement soundless in the dry leaves covering the ground. ‘Ask Aragorn if you will not take my word.’

‘You would greet a friend with– do you have no notion of how–’ Gimli swallowed the rest. He was not about to give a lesson on manners and common decency; not here, not now, and not to an Elf. He jabbed a finger at Legolas’ chest, hard, and was pleased to see him take a step back. ‘Don’t do it again. I won’t give you a second warning.’

It was an uneasy night. Gimli stirred once to the sound many voices and the tread of running feet on the ground below. The orc-noise soon faded into the wood, but try as he may, Gimli could not find sleep again. He was not alone in this; Legolas was sitting at the edge of the _talan_ , blade in hand, still as a shadow among shadows. Then he turned his head a fraction, and said simply ‘Orcs.’

Gimli huffed. What did the Elf think him? Deaf as well as blind? He rolled over and stared out into the night. A faint wind stirred through the leaves above them, shifting the dapples of moonlight over the deck. Thus passed the rest of the night.

Come morning, Gimli took his revenge for the kiss.

‘I would be content,’ he said sweetly, ‘for only my friend Legolas here to share in my blindness.’ Legolas’ affront was balm to Gimli’s pride, even if in the end he was only blindfolded with the rest, and not singled out as Gimli himself had been.

They were lead well, and even if slow, the going was as smooth as you could wish for, until the blasted Elf took a tumble. He was heavier than he looked like, or so it seemed when he reeled into Gimli.

‘Mind how you go!’

‘Mind your own self!’

‘I would, had I some decent stone for bearings – but ‘tis but soft loam and trees, trees and more trees,’ Gimli grumbled as he righted himself.

‘We passed through your “decent stone”, _Dwarf_ , or can you not recall what that passage cost us?’

‘I have you know that I have not,’ Gimli replied, sneer for sneer, ‘but the memory makes me dread the price of _this_ passage even more.’

‘No cost, or but what we are willing to pay, and even then we might find that we have gained instead of losing,’ Aragorn cut in before Legolas could reply. ‘There’s no evil here, save what we bring ourselves.’ He then added more quietly: ‘Need I remind you of one who urged you two to seek friendship? Behave.’


	2. For Luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gimli is distrustful of boats. But he does not mind the company – even if the Elf still has no manners.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, if you didn't notice already, this is set quite 100% in the book-verse – my apologies to any readers who've only seen the movies!
> 
> Also I want to thank [saraste](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Saraste/pseuds/Saraste) for the beta!

The Elf’s fingers were strong around Gimli’s wrist, their grip a firm support as he clambered into the ridiculous cockle-shell for a boat that tipped and shifted unnervingly under the added weight. To find himself a seat amidst the packs and goods previously loaded was a small comfort, for the relentless tug of Anduin still lapped far too close at hand to his liking. But needs must. Gimli picked up a paddle and turned it over in his hands, testing the fit of the shaft in his grip.

‘Do you know how to use one?’

Gimli looked up to see Legolas perching sideways on his own seat, easy as you please.

‘I will learn, since I must,’ he said, ‘but that won’t make me like the transport any better.’

‘That is a pity,’ Legolas said. Then he leaned in, smooth and swift as the river, the warm press of his lips there and gone in the space between two heartbeats.

‘Oi!’ Gimli cried out and jerked back, making the boat dance wildly. ‘Have you no shame, Elf!’

‘On my word,’ Legolas said, smile quirking up the corners of his mouth, ‘it was meant for luck, not for besmirching your honour.’

‘There will never be enough luck in kissing to keep me from sinking, should we go over.’ Gimli snapped. ‘Less even for doing it out here in the open.’

Legolas had the good grace to incline his head. ‘It was done in all friendship,’ he said, ‘I am sorry if I’ve given offense.’

‘Fool of an Elf; your ignorance may be your excuse, but only this once.’ Gimli held up a finger. ‘You hear? But this once.’

Legolas looked up. ‘I hear you. But you needn’t worry; these boats will not tip us over howsoever you may try – and for that you should be grateful, for you would sink like a stone.’

‘Insolent creature; I will save my gratitude to the Lady, as is proper.’

‘You make me wonder what you’ll save for me,’ Legolas said, tilting his head.

‘The flat of my hand, for you are an incorrigible brat.’

The Elf laughed and turned back on his seat to dip the leaf-shaped blade of his paddle into the water, guiding them from the shore with sure smooth strokes. The forest sped past them, silvery trunks crowned with gold, and the other two boats could be seen ahead on the river.

‘Would you have a try, then?’ Legolas asked after a while.

‘A try at what?’

‘At giving me that lesson in manners.’

‘You would give me a proper hand-on-hand?’ Gimli asked back. ‘Then there would be no “try” in it.’

‘Are you quite certain you’re not being overly confident, my friend?’

‘Not while you are being overly cocky. Friend.’

They came to where the river turned a sharp bend, and rounding it, saw the other boats already closing on the green sward of the Naith.

***** ***** *****

The shores changed as the river carried them past: silver and gold gave way to grey, brown and black. Wintertide colours for when the spring was but a hope. Legolas broke the silence first.

‘I admit I was in error to call you overly confident,’ he said. ‘If you can convince Lady Galadriel to part with not one, but three hairs on her head, any bout between us would be moot; you would talk me into yielding.’

‘Could agree to a quiet bout.’

‘I would gag you to make sure.’

‘I well dare you to try!’ Gimli sputtered. ‘Why is it that you Elves have such a will to rob a dwarf of the use of his faculties? The other wanted to blindfold me, this one wants to gag me. Would it truly be such a fright to have me see and speak at will?’

Legolas laughed. ‘Haldir did apologize you for the blindfold, or do you not recall? As for myself, I but seek to even the odds.’

‘Would still not come close to being even. But if it pleases you, I promise not to try and sweet-talk you into losing once we have time to go hand-on-hand.’

‘Agreed,’ Legolas said. ‘But I’d like to try my own skill at words now, if you’d but let me.’

Gimli lifted an eyebrow. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I’d tell you the true worth of the gift you were given. It’s an old story, and long, and would do well to while away the journey.’

‘A good story always whiles away the journey. You’ve made me curious; please go on.’

And so it was that Gimli learned of bold proud Fëanor of unmatched skill and fiery spirit, and of the request he made to Lady Galadriel, called Artanis in the days of her youth, so long past that it staggered Gimli to think, and how Lady Artanis, being the equal of Fëanor in pride, and perchance superior in wisdom, rebuffed him not once or twice, but three times.

‘And so it came to pass,’ Legolas finished, ‘that Gimli son of Glóin bested the finest smith who ever lived, not in the shaping of metal or gemstones, but in the shaping of words.’

Gimli snorted. ‘Do not make me sound more than I am. By what you told, I reckon he never _asked_ her; _demanded_ more like. I say none is never too high and proud for common courtesy.’ He paused and leaned forward on his seat. ‘But it might be I’m doing a disservice to Elven courtesy. For it might well be the present company is not the finest example of the manners of his kin.’

‘You wound me,’ Legolas grinned over his shoulder, ‘and might it not be the present company is not a prime example of Dwarven manners either, for the way he keeps mocking me.’

‘To be wounded by truth is to have been deceiving oneself. I’m doing you a favour and you ought to thank me.’

To look at Legolas then, his laughing face framed in profile by the grey water, the dark leafless trees, and dull misty sky, was like seeing a bright gem set in tin and rusted iron. Gimli shook his head to clear it of the thought. It was one thing to speak freely of what beauty his eyes could see when it was the Lady of Golden Wood, quite different when it was his companion and friend.

Aragorn had told true when he’d said none of them might escape Lothlórien unchanged. He might have lied about unscathed.


	3. A Misunderstanding Between Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where a third time is once too many.

The ancient forest of Fangorn felt no less watchful to Gimli upon leaving as it had done upon entering. The gnarled leafless branches still hung with dark moss, still creaked and rustled without the slightest breath of wind to stir the still cold air of winter. But the half-twilight under the interwoven canopy seemed less oppressive, the path easier to traverse, with less roots and wet slimy leaves to trip them. Whether this change was due to the company of the White Wizard, who seemed to carry his own light hidden under his faded grey robes, or to his own relieved heart, Gimli could not tell, but be as it may, he did not miss the prickly feeling of an imminent attack now it was gone. But there remained enough guarded tension in the rustle that followed their footsteps for Gimli to keep his blades firmly strapped to his belt, and his hands well clear of the handles.

‘So,’ said Gandalf in a conversational tone, when they had made some way towards the edge of forest. ‘I do see the two of you found common ground for friendship in the end.’ There was a twinkle in his eye that put Gimli to mind of the Grey Pilgrim they had known before, and his heart was made glad for it.

‘Common ground?’ he asked back. ‘Only common ground is the one we ran over for days on end.’

‘So you shared a concern for Merry and Pippin; that does you credit.’

‘Not the only thing we share.’ Gimli looked up. If an Elf could be said to grin, that was what Legolas was doing now.

‘Oh, there’s the horse.’ Gimli shrugged.

Gandalf raised an eyebrow.

‘That alone was a small miracle,’ Aragorn said quietly, ‘for those two to even have a horse to share.’

‘What he means,’ added Legolas, ‘is that it’s a wonder the Horse-Lords would part with any of their mounts after Gimli here chose to pick a fight with the one who was their commander.’

‘ _Chose to pick a fight?_ ’ Gimli bristled. ‘It was no choice at all; not for the sake of the Lady! Or would you have me leave her honour contested? I should think not!’

Legolas inclined his head and a low-hanging branch brushed softly against his hair. ‘Your defense of her was admirably worded – if only you hadn’t spoken with an axe in hand.’

‘Where else would you have me keep it? He was going for his sword, mind you!’’

‘Peace.’ Aragorn stepped between them. ‘What Legolas fails to mention is that he had an arrow nocked.’

‘What choice did I have but to defend my friend from his own foolishness?’

‘Calls me a friend and mocks me in one breath… how I do wish you were not over-age to learn some manners!’

‘And you would be the one to teach me if I weren’t?’

‘Who else? But there’s nothing to it now; you’re so ancient as to be beyond hope.’

‘You wound me, friend, to think me as venerable and stiff-necked as that– for I do still bend.’

Gimli had the barest warning to dodge, but what he managed to do was to turn what was meant as a peck on the cheek into a near-painful clash of lips and teeth.

‘Off!’ he growled and shoved Legolas so hard he staggered – and shot up a swift hand to grab a hold of Gimli’s cloak so that they both went down to the forest floor in a tangle. ‘That’s a jest no more but an insult!’ Legolas, shaking with silent mirth, suddenly went very still at his tone. ‘I have half a mind to claim a forfeit for that,’ Gimli said slowly and got back to his feet.

Legolas scrambled to sit up and stared at him, his face pale, lips bruised from their encounter.

‘Gimli, surely you don’t mean to fight him over stealing kisses?’ said Aragorn behind him.

‘Stealing? Aye, that’s the word for it– taking liberties that are not his for the taking.’ Unthinking, Gimli brought two fingers to his lips, then wiped them over his moustache, as if he had meant to do that all along. He sighed. ‘Legolas,’ he found himself explaining, ‘there are things that are not done. Not in plain sight of others. Not without permission. This–’ he gestured vaguely between them–’ this what you just did would be one.’

Legolas blinked, then accepted the offered hand up. ‘I… I did not know it was– genuinely offensive,’ he confessed, ‘I must have thought that we argue about everything.’

‘And that I was arguing for the sake of argument?’

Legolas looked down, then right back at him. ‘For what it’s worth, I would apologize. I assumed too much.’

Gimli considered him, and wanted to believe the words sincere. ‘Accepted. What is a misunderstanding between friends, after all? When I should have told you the first time.’

‘You never would have.’

‘You could have asked. You can ask.’

‘I will hold you to that.’ And Legolas’ smile warmed Gimli more than if the sun had suddenly broken through the mossy-dark lattice of twisting branches above them.

‘I swear that in all my years I have never seen such a strange show of friendship.’

‘Strange as it may seem, it appears to suit them.’

Gimli looked at their two observers, then back at Legolas. ‘Strange, is that what you would say?’

‘Not so strange as to be unpleasant.’

They stepped past the last trees, out beneath the shadowing boughs and into the open wind and sky of the grasslands, and Gandalf whistled for the horses.

‘Witless, that’s what you are, Elves,’ Gimli grumbled some time later. ‘You have folk ride pillion without ever considering how it feels like to have a mouthful of someone else’s hair.’

‘What would you have us do, then, Gimli?’

‘Why, braid it up like sensible folk!’

‘You’d do that for me? Comb and braid my hair?’

‘If you would let me, yes! A small favour to a friend, but a great–’ he blew an errant golden strand off his face– ‘a great benefit to me.’

On their right, Aragorn laughed. ‘Tread careful, Gimli!’

Legolas said nothing, but Gimli saw a flush creep up his neck until the very tips of his ears shone bright with it. Well, that was unexpected.

‘If you would rather I don’t, just say so.’ And wasn’t it infuriating to be speaking to someone’s back!

Legolas cleared his throat and his voice sounded strangely tight as he replied. ‘No, it would please me if you did. It was inconsiderate of me not to think of it myself, and I thank you for asking.’

But he was unusually quiet for the rest of the ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that escalated quickly...


	4. For Thanks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Much ado about Elven hair.

Flames yet crackled in the long hearth, but the fire was dying down, and left untended, it would soon leave the Golden Hall of Edoras gloomy and cold. Gimli was sitting on a bench and Legolas cross-legged on the floor in front of him as he braided the Elf’s hair up in a simple warrior’s style: close to the skull over both sides of his head, his original twin braids woven into the design, then down into a single long braid that hung between his shoulder-blades. Gimli let out a long breath when he got to securing the ends of the final leather tie. It had not been once nor twice that he had cursed the slipperiness of Elven hair as it had wound loose between his fingers.

‘There,’ he said and sat back. ‘That should hold it. And if it won’t, I’ll just start over.’

‘I would not impose it on you.’ Legolas had been unaccountably quiet the entire time, staring at the fire and replying to queries with a single word, if that.

‘It would be no imposition.’ Gimli barely stopped his hand before he could run it over the braid at the back of Legolas’ head. It was one thing to help a friend with their hair, and quite another to go touching it simply because he wanted to. But the firelight did set off the pattern in a most pleasing way. ‘I would not mind,’ Gimli said absently, ‘it was my pleasure.’

Legolas made a small choked-off sound. When he leaned back against Gimli to look up at him, Gimli saw his face was flushed, but that might have been just the heat from the fire. Legolas reached out for his hand and squeezed it. ‘Thank you’, he said quietly, and then, still looking at him, placed a single soft kiss at the heel of his hand.

It was the barest brush of lips over the base of his thumb, but it jolted him as if his skin had been touched with glowing steel. Gimli took a deep breath, then let it out again. In the end, ‘you’re welcome,’ was all he could say.

‘We’ll ride out soon.’ But Legolas stayed where he was, his smooth cheek warm where it was pressed against Gimli’s hand. All around them people were hurrying to and fro, preparing for the King and his host to ride out to war, but for a space of a breath, rest and peace seemed to be held in that simple touch.

‘Aye, and we have little time to tarry.’ Gimli got up, as little as he did like it, and withdrew his hand. It felt empty without Legolas’ warmth to fill it. ‘Come.’

‘That eager to be on horseback again? I was sure that was one thing you would not be impatient for.’

‘Putting it off won’t make it more pleasant. And at least I’ve now put some sense in your hair, if not in your head.’

Legolas ran a hand over his new braids and smiled. ‘You only ever needed to ask.’

    *    *    *

It was much later, well into the night, and the sounds of the cold fireless camp were low but constant around them: the soft thud of the mounted guards walking the perimeter, the rustle of men chasing sleep, or shifting in their uneasy slumber. The sky was dark, but cloudless, and the waxing moon cast a faint silvery light that allowed Gimli to make out the dark shapes of the men lying about him, and some ways further, their horses standing at rest. He rolled carefully to his side, flexed his leg, then repeated the same on the other side. Made a face.

‘Saddle-sore?’ came a whisper.

‘Could call it that, if some were sensible enough to use a saddle on their horse,’ he hissed back.

‘It would not have fitted two anyway.’ Gimli heard Legolas shift next to him, then a distinct crick as he stretched out his arms.

‘You would not say no to a proper bed yourself,’ he said, then paused to think. ‘Or who am I to tell. No doubt you have slept rough for longer than I have years, and many times over.’

‘Yet practice does not take away the discomfort, or make one tireless. Nor is riding to war ever easy.’

 _Tell me,_ Gimli wanted to say. For a while there reigned only the tense not-quiet of the camp. Then Legolas spoke again.

‘To be surprised, to fight a sudden skirmish– that’s familiar, and well known to me, even if I would not call it easy; for that would be to make mockery of the fight, and of the enemy. But to ride out, meaning to do battle, awaiting to meet the foe; that makes restless of my heart.’

‘Skittish, you mean. And I thought Elves famed for their patience.’

‘Our patience is akin to Dwarven resilience: of plentiful but limited supply,’ Legolas whispered, close enough for Gimli to have touched him, had he a mind to. ‘And now it bids me to haste.’ He leaned closer still. ‘Please?’

Gimli stayed him with a hand against his chest. ‘No. Not in company you don’t.’ His eyes found Legolas’, wide and dark in the faint light. ‘And not when I have no way of knowing what you mean by it.’

‘Fine words,’ Legolas snapped, ‘from one whose mouth says one thing and hands another!’ But he stayed where he was, face scant inches from Gimli’s.

‘One thing and another’, Gimli repeated, ‘speak plainly for once!’

‘As plain as your hands in my hair? Where all the folk of Edoras could see?’

Gimli blinked. ‘What? _Now_ you choose to tell me that I was out of order?’

‘No, but–’

‘But what? You wish to do away with the braids? Go ahead, I care not if you do.’ But as soon as he spoke, Gimli knew his words for a lie.

‘Gimli–’

Whatever Legolas meant to say next was stopped by a rustle and a cough.

‘I should think that enough words for one night; you’ll have time aplenty to argue customs and manners on the morrow. But at this late hour, a Man needs his sleep, even if the Dwarf and the Elf would not.’ Aragorn’s face was in shadow, but the edge in his voice bit well enough. On hindsight, Gimli was surprised their friend had held his peace even this long.

For a moment both him and Legolas stayed frozen in their chastised silence, until Gimli turned his back with a huff. He thought he could hear a familiar voice mutter something akin to ‘a pair of fools’, and then it was quiet again.

The night was wide and cold, silvery with starlight and the waxing moon, and his dreams were restless, ghosts of golden sand slipping between his fingers where his hands sought to hold and to keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is where I start veering off the prompt... But that kiss counts, doesn't it?
> 
> Also the braiding thing sort of wormed itself in. I am not even remotely sorry. (Because you know Elves and hair.)


	5. Seizing the Last Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gimli has an epiphany of sorts and Legolas still has no sense of timing.

A sullen hazy sun was slipping low on a sky the colour of pewter. Gimli had noted how the sound of their progress changed as they reached the foothills of the White Mountains: the monotonous lulling thud of hooves on turf was now punctuated with sharper clacks as the ground grew stony. To hear and feel the bones of this land should have lifted his spirits, but he found himself strangely ill at ease, and by more than the mere thought of battle before them.

Gimli found his gaze drawn to his riding companion. The wind was sharp enough to have bitten Legolas’ bare skin pink, and the fine down at the nape of his neck stood out like gold dust in the fading light, for once not hidden by the fall of his hair. Gold over dawn-rose quartz it seemed, yet Gimli could not imagine it to be other than soft to the touch.

He watched as Legolas tucked an invisible loose strand of hair behind his ear, then stroked slowly over the close-woven braids at the sides of his head – only to jerk his hand back, the empty fingers curling up on themselves. That had been the third time since Gimli had first taken note of it: Legolas kept touching his hair – the braids _Gimli_ had put there – but it was as if each time he caught himself in the act.

It had to be the novelty, Gimli thought as they rode on. He knew himself how a new design might feel unfamiliar, the pull and weight of hair different as they were before. Might be that was the case with the Elf, too, and the startled hands were only to keep from unraveling it, as small as the possibility was. But for a few wind-pulled wisps, the braids had survived the night as they should: battle-proof.

It was then, as if gently nudged together by the even stride of the horse beneath them, that the pieces fell into place. Aragorn’s amusement at his offer to braid the Elf’s hair, Legolas’ words in the night, and the way he now kept stealing touches on Gimli’s handiwork.

_Mahal wept, he’d been played for a fool._

But that could be made into a game for two, and so Gimli waited. It did not take long; Legolas, seemingly lost in thought, lifted one hand from the horse’s neck and smoothed it over the back of his head, looping the long golden braid over his fingers.

‘Stop twiddling with it,’ Gimli said bluntly and leaned closer to the Elf, who snatched his hand back as if burned. ‘You make it look like you want to have me do it over.’

Legolas threw a startled glance over his shoulder. ‘No, nothing of the kind–’ he faltered, then continued in an exceedingly level voice. ‘I would never insist on such a thing from you.’ He turned his eyes back to the column of riders ahead of them and sat very stiff and straight on the horse.

‘I would.’ Gimli’s hands suddenly itched with the touch-memory of Legolas’ hair, the warmth where his fingers had brushed skin. He recalled how the Elf had sat quiet and tense, expectant. Legolas had not only allowed him, but _invited_ him. A thought came to him, unbidden, of a chance of another moment like that, but away from the eyes of others. To that end, this would not do, this hard silence wound tense enough to break. It would not do when he knew they might have a shared companionable quiet instead.

‘I would insist,’ Gimli repeated himself, ‘because I have only now got used to breathing without a face full of hair, and would not rob myself of the pleasure so soon.’

‘Oh. Is that so?’ Legolas paused and let his ramrod-straight posture slip a fraction. ‘And I would have thought you could accomplish that with a simple razor.’

Gimli snorted. ‘Should have known I could trust you to twist that backwards. But then again you would not care for the difference, seeing as your poor face is as bare as your bum.’

‘My what?’

‘My eyes are sharp enough– and you do bathe without any sense of decency. It could not be helped.’

Legolas suddenly slumped back against him, and Gimli could feel the swift tremble of silent laughter that passed through his frame in fits and bursts.

‘I see I have unwittingly offended your decency. Again. My apologies.’ he said haltingly.

‘No need. I never said I was offended.’

Legolas made a quiet ‘oh’ of surprise.

‘Fool of an Elf,’ Gimli muttered to himself, dug his thumbs further under Legolas’ belt and inched closer to him. That was allowed, welcomed even, as Legolas shifted to fit more snugly into the vee of his thighs. The solid presence of him settled Gimli where the approach of mountains had not, and yet at the same time it was only just enough, _had_ to be enough for them both to content themselves with if they could not find place and time to have proper words. Gimli doubted they would.

They rode a while in silence. The last of sunlight was painting the low-flying clouds a muted hue of dried blood when the Elf’s head whipped around. ‘I hear a rider a-coming!’ he called out. Their troop wheeled about to the direction of the sound which soon turned into sight: a rider, weary on a beaten-down horse. He came with tidings from Westfold, and they were grave: the war was ahead of them, and their hastily gathered few the best hope of many.

*    *    *

Gimli peered down through an arrow-slit in the breastworks. The thin sliver of the valley below he saw was dark and milling the the amassed foe. Rain lashed down on them; water ran over the edge of his helm, dripped off the tip of his nose and soaked into his beard. At his elbow, Legolas shifted on his feet, arm brushing against his.

The Elf’s skin held a soft shimmer in the darkness, a light quite unlike the ghostly glow burning in the low-hanging bellies of the stormclouds above. It set out his features in sharp relief against his rain-darkened hair and the black boiled leather of his jerkin. He would have seemed unperturbed if not for the restless dance of his fingers over his bow: an incessant brush and tap over the clean-carved wood.

A great ruckus and rattle sounded below the walls, and on top of the fastness they could hear the commands to their own archers to hold, to hold and wait as the enemy vanguard advanced, each trampling beat of iron-shod feet shrinking the distance to an easy shot. The air was tense and heavy with the scent of an oncoming storm.

‘Gimli.’ Legolas’ hand pressed on his shoulder through layers of cloth and steel, its weight negligible, yet solid as the mountain guarding their backs. ‘I would ask for a favour,’ said the Elf.

‘Anything,’ Gimli replied without hesitation, ‘that’s in my power to give, even if–’ he made a wide sweep of their surroundings with a gauntleted hand– ‘at present that might not amount to much.’

Legolas’ face lit up with a quick smile. ‘Not much, you say, yet it is precious to me.’ His mouth brushed quickly against Gimli’s, a peck as light as the rainfall, and near as cold.

‘You–’ Gimli snapped, taken aback. ‘You took me by my word, you sly creature!’ he burst out laughing.

‘It was worth the taking. And I would offer you the same– anything.’ Legolas’ face was hidden in shadow, his forehead nigh touching the front of Gimli’s helm, and he spoke so softly Gimli could barely make out the words. ‘Anything you would want this to be.’

Gimli’s breath caught in his chest, and he was gripping Legolas’ upper arms tight enough to never let go. For how could he, now? Yet he must.

A single pained scream cut through the thud and clatter below. There was a heartbeat’s worth of silence, then a huge roar erupted from innumerable throats like a roll of thunder from a cloud of flesh. Dwarf and Elf both spun to look over the battlements. The orcs and hill-men charged in a dark churning mass towards the Deeping Wall, the ladders on their shoulders jerking and flailing as they ran. Their stamping feet, clashing steel and screeching calls made a noise of a thousand deaths.

‘Anything?’ Gimli had to shout to be heard above the din. ‘Hammer and tongs and blood on the anvil– you better not get yourself killed tonight. Elf.’ He crowded Legolas against the stonework. ‘Because I’m not done,’ he said and jabbed a finger at the Elf’s chest, just hard enough to make a point. ‘You hear me?’ Another jab. ‘I’m not done telling what I would want.’

A flash of lightning lit up Legolas’ face then, wild and fey and beautiful with delight, and whatever he replied was lost to the thunderclap.

With a resounding clash to rival the noise of the storm the first siege ladders landed on their section of the wall, and the battle was on them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only the epilogue (that is, the +1) to go, phew!


	6. To Seal a Claim (Epilogue)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No turning from the threat of love,  
> No transcendental leap –  
> As witnessed here in time and blood  
> A thousand kisses deep.
> 
> \- Leonard Cohen -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last! To be frank I was honestly stuck with this for quite some time, but finally found the way it wanted to be told. And then life and work happened. And then I got last-chapter jitters. But long story short: here it is!
> 
> And then there's a bit of an epilogue, because I had to justify the Teen rating somehow ;)
> 
> Thanks again to saraste for the beta!

The walk down from the hidden caves of Helm’s Deep to the ruined Wall and the valley beyond felt longer than it should, and grim as well, for the morning sun revealed the night’s bloody work with brutal clarity. Gimli stepped past Orcs, Dunlendings, Riders, all lying where death had found them, all broken and torn, trampled into the mud where the battle had passed over them.

He dared not look too closely.

He had lost sight of Legolas soon after the blast that had torn down the wall, but had not had the luxury of dwelling on it in the midst of fighting. It was only afterwards, in the temporary safety of the caves, when the Elf’s absence had made itself felt. Marvels had unfolded before Gimli’s eyes, yet it had been like looking through smoked glass: the brightest glow of beauty dulled by not having the other with him to share the pleasure.

Then he had met with others who had found the same retreat, and heard that the last to make it through had arrived long before him. It meant nothing, he had told himself. The Keep had held, and would still hold.

He ought to have rested while there was a chance, but _not knowing_ what passed outside had wrung his heart, the faint rumour that reached them like the hum of a whetstone, sharpening the single dark sliver of fear that he could not dismiss. Whenever he had let his lids fall shut, it had been the Elf he would see in his mind’s eye: Legolas as he had seen him last, taking down a foe after another with sharp vicious grace, his smile a brilliant reflection of the gleam of steel in his hand, blazed silvery bright by lightning as the storm lashed down on them.

Gimli passed through the Dike, and saw a great party of Rohirrim gathering beside the Deeping-stream. There rose a great shout in greeting from those coming down to the Coomb with him, but Gimli kept silent, for his eyes had yet to find what he longed for, and cold fingers of dread clutched tighter at his chest for every moment more he passed looking.

Then a single rider sped away from the rest, vaulted from his horse and hit the ground running, light on his feet– and Gimli found himself stumbling where there was no obstacle.

Legolas shone.

It had to be a trick of the light, his eyes fooled by their passage from the underground darkness to the full brightness of day, but to Gimli it felt as if the newly-risen sun only regained its power to warm when it caught on Legolas’ golden hair, encircling his head in a crown finer any hands could craft. Up close, the Elf was as grimy and battle-spattered as any of them, but the warmth of his smile and the fire in his eyes burned clear through the muck, chasing the cold from Gimli’s veins as sharp and heady as liquid clear spirit.

They halted to stand a pace or two apart, and a curious expectant calm seemed to fall over them, an unseen tether that held each of them back against the pull of the other. What first words they spoke were of little consequence: wagers won and lost, weapons notched by unsporting ironclad enemies. The familiar back-and-forth felt but a feint, a ruse for the benefit of their audience, a mask to hide the restless unfulfilled anticipation that had grown from the promises spoken into the rain and the night.

‘You’re hurt,’ Legolas said gently, and brought his fingertips to touch at the length of linen tied across Gimli’s forehead.

‘But a scratch – my helm turned the blow.’

‘Still.’ Legolas let his hand linger, and Gimli turned his face to brush against the warmth of his skin, Legolas’ touch alike North to the lodestone of his heart. The tension between them snapped at that, cracked like a stone from too sharp a heat, and Legolas’ mouth was on his, not soft and hesitant, but hard with need. When they gasped apart, the Elf wore a flush of colour high on his cheeks as his gaze sought Gimli’s.

‘I–’

‘Save the words. I was not yet done.’ Gimli’s hands came up quick as a thought and drew the Elf – this Elf, _his_ Elf – back down to kiss him proper. Legolas shuddered in his arms, and then kissed him back with renewed hunger.

It felt like the silence between two heartbeats, like a lifetime there in the sun, where each touch, each taste of the other, each dizzying gulp of their shared breath crafted shape and form to the simple relief of being alive that sang in their very blood.

‘And now you are done?’ Legolas asked, down on one knee in the battle-torn mud.

Gimli gave a simple shake of his head. ‘Not as long as I draw breath.’

Legolas laughed then, wild and bright and joyful, and held Gimli’s face between his two hands. His thumbs brushed over the apples of his cheeks, a slow gentle caress on the wind-bitten skin. ‘What about this wide open field, what about all the eyes in this company?’ the Elf whispered.

‘Sod the lot of them,’ Gimli snorted, ‘if they don’t have the decency to look away, they can stand witness.’

‘Witness to what?’

‘To my intent–’

‘High time,’ Legolas breathed so quietly Gimli almost did not hear.

‘Hush, you, lest you mean to keep me from saying my piece.’ Legolas’ mouth curled into a small smirk, and he kept quiet, but his fingers wound into Gimli’s hair, right behind his ears where it had come loose from its ties, and each brush of fingertips against his scalp was as delicious as it was distracting. Gimli sighed and started anew. ‘My intent to claim you more dear than any other to my heart.’

‘Only your heart? What of the rest of you?’ Legolas’ restless hands skimmed over Gimli’s face, stroking his temples, his cheeks, his beard where Gimli knew they would come off stained with orc-filth.

‘Holds you dear as well, you shameless creature, but I will not offer proof of that in company.’

‘And you forget you did already, for those with eyes to see.’

‘That claim I made without foundation, and unbeknownst,’ Gimli huffed.

‘Unbeknownst to your waking mind, perchance – I was the one with your hands in my hair, remember.’

‘How could I forget?’ Gimli trailed one finger slowly over the braid at Legolas’ temple. ‘And I would do it again, if only this didn’t need a wash before a comb.’

Legolas smiled slowly at that, his eyes dark and intent as he held Gimli’s gaze. ‘Curse this road and its perils,’ he said softly, ‘for it has brought me my heart’s desire most unexpected, yet won’t grant me the leave to act upon it.’

Gimli let out a long breath and closed the distance to rest his forehead against Legolas’. ‘Soon,’ he said, even if he knew it for a tenuous hope.

    *        *        *

The water in the bath had long since cooled, and the smooth flags were cold under Gimli’s bare feet where he stood, but there was a merry fire in the hearth that scented the moisture-heavy air with the warm clean perfume of peat and made the decorated wooden pillars holding up the roof glow golden.

‘I think I should go and thank Aragorn,’ he mused as he drew the comb slowly through Legolas’ hair. It was still moist, clinging in supple tendrils around his fingers and gleaming with firelight.

‘Why so?’ the Elf asked, his voice slightly muffled where he leaned his cheek against one drawn-up knee.

‘Had he told me what I was declaring, I would never have braided your hair when I did.’

‘Oh, I think you would have. It would not be your way to go back on an offer already accepted.’

‘Might be so.’ Gimli set the comb aside and bent down to nuzzle at Legolas’ bare shoulder. ‘But I would have been loath to have the work of my hands speak an untruth.’

‘Well, it’s a truth now, isn’t it?’ Legolas let his head fall back against Gimli’s chest, and the ends of his free-falling hair brushed teasingly over bare skin.

‘Regardless. Would that I had some token of mine put on display here.’ Gimli wound a lock of golden hair loosely around his fingers and grinned at the shiver that went through the Elf when he happened to touch at the rim of his ear. ‘Alas, I didn’t set out on this journey to start claiming lovers.’

‘No, but you did not need decorations to make your claim known before.’ Legolas turned his head as much as Gimli’s hold on his hair allowed him, and ran a single finger slowly over his own lips.

Gimli let his hands fall to his sides. ‘I do not plan on making a habit of it,’ he said.

‘And I don’t intend to berate you for it.’ Legolas swung his long legs over the bench to face Gimli. ‘But that door is closed to the sight of others.’

‘So it is, but we have kept those others from their bath long enough, and they might come calling.’

‘They won’t.’ Legolas traced the breadth of Gimli’s shoulders, swept his hands over his chest, fingertips skipping on his ribs. Gimli’s breath caught in his throat, and he seized the Elf by his wandering hands. ‘Legolas – as much as I want you, I would not start something that could too soon be interrupted.’

‘Do not fret. They know you’ll be combing out my hair,’ Legolas said and leaned forward to nip at the corner of Gimli’s mouth. ‘And that we might linger at it.‘

‘Who knows– who did you tell?’

‘None.’ Legolas stole another kiss when Gimli meant to speak, then sat back with his eyes laughing. ‘The sons of Elrond did not need my telling them.’ His thumbs stroked over the backs of Gimli’s hands. ‘Not when they could see my hair bound by dwarven hands, and us offered a chance to cleanse ourselves after the battle and the road…’ he trailed off as Gimli released his hands.

‘Very well; but you speak of combing and braids, yet it’s not all you would want of me, is it?’ Gimli curled his hand at the back of Legolas’ neck, fingertips brushing at the fine golden down at the nape.

‘No,’ Legolas breathed and drew him close. ‘Not all.’

Outside the firelit walls of the Golden Hall there was a land at war, and beyond tomorrow there was a path set out for them where the only constant was danger, but this was his dearest heart warm in his arms and eager for him, and so Gimli let slip from his mind all thought of worry and doubt for the oldest and simplest of pleasures: a loving touch, a shared breath, two beating hearts forging bright an unyielding hope to carry with them on the darkening road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, after sticking faithfully to the book-verse, I caved in for that last scene, because Edoras + bath was too lovely a combination not to use. And it wasn't obvious: for the purposes of this story, combing and braiding someone's hair (with the exception of immediate family, I suppose) implies carnal knowledge to Elves ;)
> 
> A huge thanks to everyone who commented or left kudos; it means the world to me <3
> 
> I'm at [tumblr](https://katajainen.tumblr.com/), too, come say hi!


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